Chapter 22
With each snowy step that takes us closer to Hemlock Cove Cemetery, Hayden’s silence grows heavier.
I dig inside myself, try and see how I feel about visiting my own grave, knowing that my body is not much more than bones beneath the dirt.
I’m surprised to find the stirring within me growing peaceful, settled.
Among the confusing tangle of sadness, jealousy, and so, so much heartache, I’m feeling that sense of coming home. Completeness. I glance up at Hayden’s back, the upturned leather collar, the rigid set of his shoulders.
I’m becoming well-versed in the language of his body. There’s no question that what he’s feeling now is grief. A tiny flash of pique has me rushing to his side, nearly slipping on the snowy stone, grabbing the hand that isn’t holding the bouquet of white roses.
“I’m right here,” I say. “It’s so weird that you’re mourning me when I’m right here.”
Hayden’s eyes find mine, his expression unreadable. The furrow in his brow flickers, and his lips part like he’s going to say something. But then he turns away. He doesn’t say it, but I can feel it.
For now. You’re here for now.
I grip his hand as hard as I can, and he doesn’t pull away.
Hemlock Cove Cemetery is at the top of a great rise, overlooking the town and harbor. The little brick buildings look like toys lit from within by tiny candles. Up here, you can see the lighthouse, the ocean that stretches miles away.
“It’s so beautiful here,” I say, opening the creaky iron gate. It’s a small plot of land, the ancient tombstones dusted with a flawless coat of snow.
“Your father and I thought you’d like it.
” Hayden leads me to the very back of the graveyard, stopping before a crumbling tombstone.
Swooping gracefully to his knees, he brushes snow from the face of the stone.
“You won’t see it today,” he says. “But I chose this spot because it’s the best place to watch the sun set.
” Each careful sweep of his fingers against my grave breaks my heart.
“Do you have a grave?” I ask, kneeling beside him. The skin near his eyes tightens. He pauses, looking down at the roses in his hand, smoothing a thumb across a creamy petal.
“I never got a grave.” He shoots me a glance with the barest hint of irony. “Kinda funny, actually, as you have more than several. In fact, I chose the house where I currently live because it’s near one of your graves.”
“Holyfield Cemetery,” I breathe, blinking.
“Yeah,” Hayden says roughly. “Sometimes you’re on the other side of the world.
I’ve found you in Australia, Ireland, Canada…
I’m sorry about your grave. I should have taken better care of it.
I should have…” His fists clench, and when he accidentally snaps a few rose stems in his hand, he loosens his grip immediately, looking stricken.
He shakes his head. “I’ll get it repaired, don’t worry. ”
“No, Hayden, stop.” I put a hand on his arm, and he looks away.
“Stop beating yourself up.” His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t go back to cleaning off the snow from my tombstone.
He just goes still, looking like the most heartbreaking statue, exactly the kind you might find in a cemetery.
“Do you have any powers?” I ask, hoping a change of subject might help.
“Delia did a show-and-tell, hm? Not surprised—she never gets to show off. Nah. I can outrun her several times over, and I’m a hell of a jumper, but…” He shrugs. “Most of that I attribute to what I eat now.”
A question pops into my head, but I feel ashamed to ask it. Hayden’s watching my face, though, and he gets an amused look.
“It’s nice,” he says, cocking his head. “Being able to read you like a book. Ask your question. I promise you I’ll answer.”
“When’s the last time you killed something other than an animal?” This surprises him. But he doesn’t get distant or pull back. Just serious.
“In the over two hundred years since I first met you,” Hayden says solemnly, “I have only killed once.”
I nod, encouraging him to go on.
“It happened not too far from here, actually, just an hour’s walk north of Hemlock Cove, a mere few months after we first met. We had only just started seeing each other, and you wanted to spend a day climbing a mountain north of here. You still thought I was human.
“That day, we stumbled upon another vampire’s hunting ground. It happened so fast—one moment we were in a meadow where you were stooping to pick a flower, and the next you were pinned by a vampire with the most enormous fangs I’d ever seen.” Hayden shudders, haunted at the memory.
“I lost it. Unleashed every vile, violent instinct in me. In a few minutes, I was bathed in blood, pieces of vampire all around us, and you were on the ground, looking up at me like I was a demon.” I’m surprised to find his voice going soft and fond.
“You thought I was a demon, and I thought it was over, but you came to me, Rose. You touched my bloody cheek, my fangs, and you said—you always say—‘I’m not afraid, Hayden.’ ” Hayden shuts his eyes and cups my face.
“You still wanted me, even when you saw what I was, even though I didn’t deserve it then—I don’t deserve it now. ”
In a sudden whirlwind of snow, Hayden’s standing a few feet away now with his back to me, gazing out at the sea. I swallow hard, my heart squeezing. I know he can feel it, how it pulses harder every time we’re close, when I’m afraid he’ll leave me.
I turn to my grave, still covered by the snow, and finish what he started, cleaning and scraping the years and weather from its ancient surface. Finally, I uncover my epitaph.
Forever missed,
Here lies our beloved
Rose Elizabeth Caldwell
Nov. 14, 1802–Nov. 13, 1821
Only one word on that stone arrests me.
“Hayden,” I breathe. Something in my voice drags Hayden from his broody cliff. He turns around, attentive, his eyes bright and violet in the swirling snow.
He is just so, so beautiful.
“We were married?” My voice is shaking. Hayden’s lips part on an exhale. His gaze is open, and a wave of grief swells in his eyes. Immediately, he ducks his head. Why does it make me so sad that he’s trying to tuck his grief away from me?
“Yes,” he finally says, heavily. I can’t help the tears that spill, turning to my stone. I dig my fingers into the grooves of the letters. C-A-L-D—
I drop my hand, wiping the snow and wet and sorrow from my eyes.
“I can’t b-believe you asked me so soon,” I say. “You hardly knew me. I…I can’t believe you asked me at all—”
“I can’t believe you said yes.” Hayden’s on his knees beside me, one hand cupping my nape, the other fisted in the lapel of my coat.
His voice is broken. Fierce. “Rose, I…When I lost you, I didn’t leave your grave for weeks.
I lay here, day and night, because I couldn’t—couldn’t bear the idea of you being alone.
The town nearly sent me away, frightened by my madness, to an asylum, and I would have let them, but your father understood.
He’s the only one who did. You so, so hated to be alone, especially in the dark, and I couldn’t leave you, I couldn’t—”
Hayden’s voice breaks in half, and I realize, my god, he’s crying.
Silent, cold tears glisten on the angles of his cheekbones.
He won’t stop touching me, his hands moving from my cheeks to my neck, his thumbs tracing the shape of my mouth.
His neediness, his heartbreak, makes me want to climb into him, make us one person.
“Rose, what am I gonna do?” he rasps, kissing me frantically all over my face. “Every time I lose you, it’s incomprehensible. I can’t go through it again, I can’t, I can’t—”
“Don’t tell me about my funerals,” I gasp against his lips. “Tell me about our wedding, Hayden. Tell me.” Hayden’s cool, sweet breath rushes over my face in a huff of laughter.
“It was a disaster.” He kisses me. “You were late.” Kisses me again. “Thought I was jilted for one terrifying moment. Turns out you’d been training Winston to be the ring bearer, and he wasn’t cooperating.”
“That sounds like my perfect wedding,” I confess, meaning it.
“I dunno,” Hayden says, his breath suddenly low and rough.
“I’m pretty partial to the wedding night.
” The look Hayden gives me right then is so full of heat and lust, I shove him back against my tombstone and climb into his lap.
His eyes go wide, the black of his pupils swallowing the churning blue and purple, and his hands find my hips, squeezing.
“And this is another thing I find incredibly unfair,” I say, breathing hard. “The Roses before me, they know you. They know how to make you feel…good.”
“Good?” he echoes faintly, staring at my lips, brow furrowing. But then his eyes go wide with understanding, get impossibly hotter.
“Y-yeah, and…and I? I’ve never, um…” Oh my god, I want to die right now. Just vanish in the hot, horny burst of flame that’s confusing my body. I squeeze my eyes shut. “I’ve never made anyone feel…good.”
A possessive fury flashes across Hayden’s face, and he unleashes an inhuman snarl. One that sends a terrifying thrill through me. His hands slide to my bottom, and he squeezes me, pulling me close.
“Yeah? Well. Good.” When his lips curl, his fangs are already extending. The mere sight of them makes my hips involuntarily jerk forward. He grunts, his hands sweeping up to my thighs, gripping them to stilling. “You’re mine.”
“But are you mine?” I whisper. “How can you be, if—if I don’t even know how to touch you?” Hayden surges forward, pressing the flat of his tongue to that spot on my neck that made me lose my mind last night.